For a while my habit was out of control. Not that I knew it at the time, of course. I thought I could control it: one week Hello!, the next Grazia, the following week, OK!
Find Wine!
Last night we held a Knackered Mothers’ Wine Club tasting at a local restaurant (the amazing Graze) to raise a bit of cash for our local nursery. It was a heady mix: eight wines + inquisitive people up for trying different wines + company of friends both old and new.
There are few things more dull than being stuck with the man who talks to your boobs rather than face at dinner but there is someone who trumps him in my experience: The Wine Bore. The WB uses wine knowledge like a weapon, beating those around him into submission with presumed superior wine powers. I’d be mortified to be labelled as such but if you ever catch me employing WB tactics, I’m doing it for a very good reason.
I posted a couple of days ago, a brief note about my brother Tim who died eight years before to that day.
One of the tips for new year, new you is to clear out your wardrobe, throwing away anything unworn over the past year.
In my old life – the one with travel, no children and a flatish tummy – I spent lots of time on courses learning how to negotiate.
I was described as ‘organic’ the other day. By a hairdresser. It didn’t really register at the time but I think I’ve realised what he meant. Call me shallow –
A few days ago, a friend and I talked about how much we were loving the holidays: everyone at home, no school runs, even relative lie-ins thanks to later-than-usual bedtimes for the children. The holidays are too short!
There is a dance routine that I have perfected over the years. It is set to Queen’s ‘Fat Bottomed Girls’ and is performed in the kitchen at times of extreme stress or emotion to my favourite audience: my three children.
I’m not sure quite when it was that I turned into my mother, but I have spent the last hour making mince pies.
